


everyone in this room got here somehow and everyone in this room will have to leave

by goodbyechunkylemonmilk



Series: steady wit and ceaseless plans [3]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater, Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Weddings, staggering emotional incompetence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24219562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodbyechunkylemonmilk/pseuds/goodbyechunkylemonmilk
Summary: The first thing Ashley says—the actual first thing, as in before she’s even out of her car—is, “I'msohonored to be a part of your sham wedding.”Declan sighs. “Please don’t say that where Edward can hear you. He’s already pissed at me for—” He waves a hand vaguely, hoping the gesture can encompasspushing him even deeper into the closet so I can run for officeandhow little help I was planning all of thisandmy general dysfunction that we both for some reason thought he could fix."Just please don't say that where he can hear you. And since that's pretty much everywhere, maybe just don't make fun of our weddingatour wedding."Ashley opens her car door into his arm, but gently. "Quit freaking out. Everything's going to be fine."Nothing about the four and a half weeks since the proposal has convinced Declan of that, but Ashley is right more often than she's wrong, and anyway, it's what he's trying with all his might to believe, that if he grits his teeth and goes through the motions, his relationship will somehow end up on solid ground again, so he nods and smiles and tries not to be too obviously grateful for the slightly robotic hug she pulls him into.
Relationships: Edward Cullen/Declan Lynch
Series: steady wit and ceaseless plans [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1239065
Comments: 29
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well. This is not the epilogue. It takes place after the initial story but it is _not_ the epilogue! Which is about 75% written and 10% edited and 100% on hold. Honestly this is the story I've been daydreaming about to fall asleep, and I just started writing it to have something fun to do while the world happens around us. So I'm taking a more casual approach to writing and editing it than I did with the main fic, but since I've been thinking about it for months, I do have a pretty solid grasp of the storyline. I'm anticipating three or four chapters, but I'm leaving the official count blank because writing SWACP taught me not to be too cocky about being able to anticipate my own behaviors. This is set an unspecified amount of time in the future and Declan is running for an unspecified office. Don't worry about it.
> 
> The first chapter was previously posted on tumblr minus some minor edits, but the second (which I'll be putting up soon!) is totally new.
> 
> I decided to go old-school tumblr fandom and use a Siken quote for a title. This one's from "Unfinished Duet."

Declan has just started to loosen his tie after a long day when he notices Edward sitting statue-still on his couch. He freezes, the old fear coming back for one horrible second before he regains his composure. “Holy _shit_. You couldn’t have called ahead?” He regrets the words as soon as they’re out. Edward is understandably sensitive about the necessity of them living apart during the campaign, and implying that he’s nothing more than an ordinary visitor, subject to the ordinary rules of etiquette, won’t help matters. 

Edward’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t object, instead saying solemnly, “I love you.” 

Declan nods, returning his attention to his tie. “I love you too.” He still finds it a bit difficult to say, all these years later. He’s never once managed the sincerity and passion Edward routinely summons, but he gets the words out. He adds, “It’s good to see you,” which is true but not the whole truth. The campaign requires a cold, precise focus that he has trouble maintaining when Edward’s around. 

“Being with you taught me that I could be happy,” Edward says, now with less confidence. His voice shakes, and Declan knows he ought to turn to him, go to him, but he doesn’t, staring down at the silk between his fingers. “That it isn’t selfish to want to be happy. And Declan, I’m not happy.” 

Even as his heart ices over, Declan hears himself saying, as he has so many times before, “When the campaign is over—” 

“You’ll be a public figure and subject to even greater scrutiny,” Edward says flatly. Declan can’t help but be touched by Edward’s unshakeable faith in him, even in the midst of what is clearly a break-up. He braves eye contact and regrets it immediately. Edward looks miserable but confident, like he’s sure of what he’s about to do. “I can’t ask you to choose between me and your ambitions, but I don’t want to live like this. I don’t need our relationship to be public, but I do need it to _be_ a relationship.” 

Declan feels selfish for being surprised. He knew vaguely that Edward was unhappy, but he thought he had more time. He took it for granted that he would have the chance to fix things, though he never really thought about how he would go about doing so. He isn’t going to end his campaign. He can’t. He needs to win this, needs to prove himself, but he _wants_ Edward. 

“Just—” He shuts his eyes so that he won’t have to see Edward’s mournful expression. “Please just— Don’t leave, okay? I can fix this.” 

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Edward says gently. Declan is struck by how badly he’s going to miss his voice when he’s gone. “I love you so much. And I’m grateful for the time we’ve spent together, but I don’t know what future there is for us.” 

“Just let me _think_!” Declan says, his words coming out more demanding than pleading. He backtracks immediately, letting out a miserable laugh. “I’m sorry. This is— I guess me being blind-sided is part of the problem, huh?” He starts to pace, nervous energy flooding his body. Edward doesn’t say anything, and the fact that he doesn’t seem to feel the urge to bail Declan out is a sign of just how bad things have gotten. “I know the past few months have been rough. I know that, and I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to pretend everything’s all right, but I know—” He covers his face with his hands. Part of him wants to get defensive. It’s not like this has been easy for him either, and _he_ isn’t threatening to cut and run. But he knows that isn’t fair. With the campaign, he chose a future for both of them, and Edward has tolerated it longer than he had any right to expect. 

He would do anything to keep Edward, anything except the one thing he needs to. He wipes his eyes, though he isn’t crying. He wonders briefly if tears would help, but nothing comes. He can feel himself panicking. He can’t follow a single thought to its logical conclusion, can’t think of anything to say but _please_. 

Then, in a lightning-strike burst of inspiration, he knows exactly what he has to do. A delicate gold engagement ring has been nestled in one of Edward’s drawers for almost two years now. Declan discovered it searching for a sweater that never reappeared in his bureau after Edward did their shared laundry. The ring is exactly to his taste, and he’s never once mentioned it. Still, he makes a point of always knowing where it is. Only a fraction of Edward’s belongings made it to Declan’s new residence: a few changes of clothes, his second-favorite crochet hook, and a toothbrush he doesn’t need but insists on keeping in the cup in the bathroom. In the folds of a pair of khakis sits a velvet ring box. Looking at it makes Declan feel an intense sort of confusion that’s almost pleasant, so he does it no more than once a month. 

“Stay here. Don’t—” Declan can’t shake the fear that Edward will disappear the second he turns his back, but he forces himself to leave the room and walk down the hall to the bedroom, trying in vain to calm the frantic beat of his heart. In the bedroom, he opens the drawer that houses the ring and has to fight down a burst of panic when his hand doesn’t immediately close around it. He resists the urge to tear through the drawer, instead forcing himself to search methodically, shifting layers of neutral-colored fabrics.

His breathing doesn't ease until he finds the box wedged in a corner. He allows himself a moment to stare down at it, long enough for a sense of relief to wash over him, but not long enough for doubt to creep in. He reenters the living room with it held in both hands. He clears his throat, but Edward doesn’t look up. It feels strange to be unable to draw his gaze, and he can feel himself starting to panic again. If it’s already over, if it’s really too late, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. 

He puts the ring down on the glass-topped coffee table between them with a muted clunk. “Ask me to marry you.” He takes a shaky breath. Edward still hasn’t looked up, and the ring box stays closed on the table. He makes himself say, “Ask me, and I’ll say yes.” Edward doesn’t speak. Declan fights not to fidget, his self-control dissipating with every second of silence. “I want us to have a future,” he says, desperate to fill the air. “And you’re right that I don’t know how to make things better, but I want to. I want to figure it out. Together.” 

Edward picks up the box and flips it open, staring wistfully at the ring inside. “So you like it?” 

It’s not the question Declan expected, but he says, eyeing the distance still open between them, “Yeah. It's—” He falters. _Perfect_ sounds dishonest. Nothing’s perfect. “You really know me,” he says softly. 

Edward is still looking at the ring, not Declan. It’s a very lonely feeling. “I do,” he says, and that feels worse. He doesn’t make it sound like a good thing. 

Declan can see the exact moment when Edward gives in, when the force of inertia stops him from walking away. He smiles sadly, but he looks up, finally. He moves from the couch to stand in front of Declan, close enough to touch, though he doesn’t. He gets down on one knee. He says slowly, as if he’s weighing every word, “Declan Lynch, will you marry me?” 

For one awful moment, Declan’s _yes_ catches in his throat as he feels the enormity of what he’s doing, of what he’s done. But there’s only one path forward for them, and he doesn’t really have a choice. “Yes. Of course.” Watching Edward slide the ring onto his finger feels sort of like an out-of-body experience. Or the opposite. Like he’s as resolutely inside his body as he’s ever been, but his body has been reduced to the hand Edward is holding, cold and steady. “I love you,” he says, trying to make it sound like something other than the apology it is. 


	2. Chapter 2

“I can't believe you're getting married!” Ashley says, snatching at Declan's left hand to look at his ring. He loses a minute trying to decide if she's put an insulting emphasis on _you're_ before conceding that a bit of skepticism is probably deserved. Especially from Ashley, who was the recipient of a hand-delivered wedding invitation before he actually got around to telling her there was a wedding to be invited to. Not his proudest moment, though he still doesn't think a four-day gap between proposal and notification is so horribly unreasonable. 

The ring is a perfect fit. For a few seconds after he puts it on, every time he puts it on, the snugness of it lulls him into a sense of false calm before reality comes crashing down on him again. Ashley prods at it, her hands soft and warm, her shoulder pressed against his as she crowds onto the couch with him. He finds himself thinking about the life he aspired to back in high school. There was a spot in it for a woman like Ashley, or the Ashley he thought he knew. He sometimes misses that simple, straightforward, impossible future. Now his life is half what he thought he always wanted and half something he still doesn’t understand.

“Holy shit,” Ashley says, more quietly. “You’re getting _married._ ” 

Declan yanks his hand free, feeling uneasy. Ashley isn’t looking at the ring anymore; she’s staring at him, eyes narrowed. She invited herself over, as she tends to do. When she showed up at his door, he assumed she meant to talk him out of getting married, but so far, she's been nothing but positive. She spent twenty minutes flipping through some of the wedding magazines that have been appearing in the house as if by magic, each distended by post-its marking the tuxedos and flowers and cakes Edward wants Declan's opinion on but is apparently unwilling to ask him about in person. She hasn't even made fun of Edward's supposedly bland taste, something she usually enjoys. To Declan, it feels very much like a trap, and he demands, “Why don’t you just say it already? Say I’m being stupid. Say I’m making a mistake. Let's just get it over with.” 

Ashley raises her eyebrows. “I don’t think you’re making a mistake."

Declan freezes, all the fight going out of him. He can't say why he's slightly disappointed by her unexpected support. "But you don't even like Edward."

"No. I don't. He's boring and patronizing, and frankly, _he's_ never liked _me_ , so I don't think I should have to apologize for it being mutual. But he's good for you. He makes you happy. And, I don't know, softer. He's probably the whole reason you can actually have a civil conversation with Ronan now. It would obviously be better if you hadn't gotten yourself into a situation where a hastily conceived proposal seemed like the only alternative to a break-up, but since you did..." She shrugs. "Do _you_ think you’re making a mistake?” 

“Of course not!” Declan says defensively, though the truth is that he's made a point of not thinking about it, a feat of avoidance made easier by the fact that he hasn’t actually seen Edward since falling asleep in his arms the night of the proposal. “He was going to leave, and now he isn’t. So it was the right choice.” 

Ashley pulls her legs onto the couch and tucks them underneath her, providing a few precious inches of height. In her sophomore year of college, she declared heels a tool of the patriarchy and said that she would never wear them again, a principled stand that lasted about two months before she gave it up, admitting with some embarrassment that she liked to be tall. “You’re not being stupid. You know what _would_ be stupid?” She pokes Declan in the chest with bruising force. “I mean, you are marrying him to save your relationship, right? Not because you’ve been suddenly overcome with matrimonial zeal?” 

Declan winces but admits, “Essentially.” 

“Then what would be _stupid_ would be getting married to save your relationship and then losing it anyway. The wedding’s a gesture. A pretty extreme gesture, admittedly, but just a gesture. If it’s all you have in your arsenal, you’re going to be doing this all over again in a couple years, and I’m going to be _way_ less sympathetic when you’re frantically planning a vow renewal or getting his name tattooed somewhere private or whatever comes after marriage on the list of things that _do not address the core issue_.” 

Declan leans back against the arm of the couch, trying to put some space between himself and her finger, jabbing emphatically on her final words. He doesn't want to think about what comes next, but he certainly hopes the wedding buys him more than two years of good will. “Have you been talking to Edward?” 

Ashley rolls her eyes. “Yeah, we had a lot of time to talk when he stopped by to invite me to a wedding that I had no idea was happening. Look, he’s lonely and he’s scared, okay? He just needs you to do something to prove that he still has a place in your life. Honestly, if you finally agreed to a double-date with me and Brooke, who is _very discreet_ by the way, he’d probably cancel the tux fittings right now.” Ashley has softened over the years, making less of an effort to project cynicism and superiority with every gesture, but being the object of her undivided attention is still slightly intimidating. Declan knows she must be able to see the reluctance in his eyes. He's still only out to a select group, defined by necessity: Ashley, his family, the Cullens, and Gansey, who appeared uninvited at the dinner at which Declan had intended to introduce Edward to Ronan properly. Having already spent the week working himself up to it, he'd been unwilling to back down. Ashley's girlfriend, charming as she may be, does not absolutely need to know this about him.

“Well," Ashley says after a long silence. "Then you’re probably gonna have to marry him. Are you sure you’re ready to do that?” 

“Why shouldn’t I be? It isn’t as if I don’t want to be with him for—” Declan chokes on the phrase _the rest of my life_ , not because, as Ashley so clearly believes, he’s still a commitment-phobe more than half a decade into a long-term relationship, but because it makes him wonder exactly how long _the rest of his life_ is going to be. He and Edward haven’t really discussed the prospect of him being turned someday. He knows Edward thinks it would destroy his soul and damn him to an eternal half-life. What he doesn’t know is whether Edward wants him around enough to move past that. He says, “Obviously I intend to be with him for the foreseeable future.” 

Ashley snorts. “Please tell me that's not in your vows.” 

Declan works the ring off his finger and sets it on the coffee table, thinking as he does of the ten, fifteen, and thirty-year plans saved to his computer, and how none of them fit quite right anymore. He turns away from Ashley when he sees her eyebrows jump. He can't help but feel that this shouldn't be so difficult. They aren’t really getting married, after all, not legally. That would rather obviously undermine all of his careful efforts to remain in the closet. They’re just having a small ceremony with Edward’s family and Declan’s family and Ashley. It won’t impact his health insurance or his tax filing status. They aren’t hyphenating their names. He isn’t even sure if Edward expects to move in again. Still, it feels massive, a huge, unimaginable commitment he talked himself into in a moment of desperation. It's true that he could get out of it, maybe even without losing Edward, but teetering on the edge of disaster, he doesn't think he's brave enough for a change in strategy. Ashley's right that Edward is good for him, although he doesn't know that he would say "softer." He feels awake with Edward, feels real. He can't give that up.

He picks up the ring and slides it back on, appreciating the moment when it slips past the second joint. “I don’t know if I’m ready to marry him,” he says. He expects the severity of this admission to settle like a weight on his shoulders, but instead he feels lighter. Saying it aloud, this thing they all must know, feels like letting out a long-held breath. “But I want to be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's chapter two! I definitely thought I was going to post two chapters yesterday, which is cute. Thank you to everyone who read chapter one! :)
> 
> Note: Brooke is the girl Declan was on a date with when Edward interrupted them in part two of the original fic. A couple different people asked me if Brooke was Ashley's girlfriend, which I seriously considered confirming because it seemed fun, but ultimately I figured Ashley would already have been dating her girlfriend at the point when Declan went on a date with Brooke. Obviously they could be in an open relationship, but I couldn't help thinking like. Is an open relationship that potentially includes Declan _really_ Ashley's happy ending? As funny as that would be, I just couldn't get past the Declan of it all. So what I've decided is that Ashley and her mystery girlfriend broke up at some point after the end of SWACP, and she met Brooke through Declan, who post-SWACP is learning that actually, friendships can be nice.


	3. Chapter 3

Ronan is late. Declan would ordinarily resent this, and it’s possible he still does, since he’s thinking of it as _Ronan_ being late, as if Matthew and Gansey aren’t right there with him. Any resentment he may be harboring is overpowered by how grateful he is to be outside waiting for them instead of inside watching Edward have a meltdown over the cake or the flowers or the gift table or whatever he’s currently fixating on as a stand-in for what’s gone wrong in their relationship. Declan’s escape isn’t complete: Edward has let loose a stream of texts contained only by his continued inability to grasp modern technology. Declan typically finds this—though he doesn’t use the word— _cute_ , but now his appreciation for Edward’s deficiency is entirely practical.

Struggling to find and maintain a signal in the woods surrounding Edward’s house—bought after Declan said they should live apart and a logical but unambiguously passive-aggressive choice of wedding venue—is still infinitely preferable to having the same conversation in person. That this is a bad sign is something Declan is by now very skilled at ignoring. After twenty minutes and three-quarters of an exchange over napkin rings, he finally hears the Pig struggling up the uneven incline that leads to the designated parking area. He thinks they’re all a bit old for vanity cars, but no one seems to care about his opinion. 

Even though they’re nearly an hour late, no one actually gets out of the car. Declan checks his watch in an exaggerated motion intended to telegraph his displeasure. A minute passes, and Ronan steps out, looking desperately uncomfortable in a suit jacket over a shirt buttoned to the collar, like a child who’s been forced into his Sunday best and is itching to burst free. Declan, accustomed to fending off Matthew’s exuberant hugs, wonders if Edward has been complaining about him to his brothers. Ashley, he realizes, is the only one he can trust to be on his side, and her loyalty is assured only because of how much she and Edward dislike each other. Over the years, he's tried everything he could think of to make them get along, but now their mutual antipathy is something of a relief. 

He makes up his mind to put this concern with all of the other things he’s choosing not to think about. “You're late,” he says to Ronan, his mind on the laminated card in his breast pocket that lays out the day’s schedule in fifteen-minute increments. He doesn’t really think it’s his fault that Edward failed to account for more than ten cumulative minutes of tardiness, or that he chose to have the wedding on a property buried so deep in the woods that when Declan turned on his phone’s GPS, the dot on his screen spun in three frantic circles before blinking out of existence. He considers it a testament to his emotional maturity that he didn’t say anything to this effect after Edward noted that all of _his_ guests were late in a way that implied he’d somehow done it on purpose.

“Look,” Ronan says in the mulish, unpleasant tone Declan remembers from high school and the two years after. It would be unforgivably stupid to get into a fistfight right before his wedding, but he feels that old familiar urge flicker to life, his body thrumming with adrenaline and resentment and stagnant powerlessness. Fortunately for the tattered remains of his relationship, Ronan turns away. He no longer wears the leather wristbands that were once a staple of his wardrobe, and he resorts now to chewing on the sleeve of his jacket. Declan’s hands itch with the urge to slap his arm away from his mouth. “It’s temporary,” Ronan says, muffled. “So don’t get all excited. I found something, but I couldn't make it last. She’ll be awake about four hours. And if your wedding’s any longer than that, I’m sure we'll all wish we could just fall asleep.” 

Declan doesn't have any spare mental energy to allocate to parsing intentionally vague statements mumbled into the wind. He looks to the Pig, parked far enough away that he can’t make out the figures inside. “I know Matthew can tell time becauseI’m the one who taught him,” he’s saying when the front passenger side door opens. He only has a second to register how strange it is that Ronan was riding in the back before Aurora steps out. She beams at him from across the clearing, but his attempt to smile back gets lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth. He stares at her, slackjawed.

He’s used to seeing her by now, though he hasn’t been visiting as often as he used to. The campaign was a good excuse to get out of the miserable imitation of normalcy that was his monthly trip to Cabeswater. Edward almost always went with him, which was preferable to going alone, even though he could never stop obsessing over the ease Edward had with his mother, an ease that eluded him. He couldn't get comfortable there, listening as Edward told her about everything she'd missed in the world it seemed she would never see again. She never got bitter, and though he knew it was wrong to begrudge her this limited happiness, he'd wanted her to fight. But she'd never been a fighter.

“Mom,” he says as she approaches. His voice comes out strange, subtly wrong in some way he can’t quite identify. He clears his throat and tries again, this time ending up overly formal, which should at least be familiar to her. “I didn't think I would see you here.” He accepted her inevitable absence calmly, adding to Edward’s conviction that he wasn’t taking things seriously. Cabeswater, an intensely reactive extension of Ronan’s subconscious that is also their mother’s only safe haven, would be a terrible place for a wedding. Unfortunately, by the time they had the venue discussion, Edward was well past the point of logic. He pushed Declan to at least _ask_ about holding the ceremony there, but Declan didn’t want to take on the pain of being refused or impose the pain of refusing. It was a display of tact that Edward immediately negated, leaving in the middle of one of their many unbearable wedding discussions and returning prickly and sad. The next time Declan saw Ronan, he was strangely quiet, and the time after that is now. He suspected that Ronan was avoiding him, which wasn’t fair but was also hovering around the mid-thirties on his list of problems, so he didn’t spend much time worrying about it. Now he feels like an asshole, because apparently Ronan was doing _this_. 

Ronan, unable to let a kindness stand, mutters, “We've been working on this for a while, you know; it's not _for_ you or anything.” 

Aurora swats his arm before turning her full attention to Declan. “I couldn't miss your wedding,” she says, as if just wanting something has ever been enough. It’s the kind of unjustified optimism that’s always bothered him, but he can’t begrudge her a bit of positivity after years trapped in a dreamworld.

She never felt quite solid in Cabeswater, like something essential had been scooped out, but now her grip is strong, and something in him gives way. When she pulls back, it’s to put her hands on his cheeks and stare into his eyes. “Don’t be annoyed with your brother,” she says. Off to the side, Ronan grumbles something undoubtedly rude, but Declan can’t hear it over the blood rushing in his ears. By the car, Matthew and Gansey are struggling to free a massive, poorly-wrapped lump from the trunk. Declan fights to focus on Aurora, to exist in this moment. “It’s my fault we were late,” she says. “I was so excited to see you, of course, but—” She looks away. He can’t remember her ever seeming self-conscious before, but then, he spent so long not thinking of her as a person at all. “I haven’t been outside in quite a while. There’s a lot to see.” 

Declan feels, like a punch to the gut, how this isn’t his tragedy. It’s a part of his tragedy, to be sure—his mother, his childhood, his continued inability to really sink into unconditional love—but hers is the life that’s been stolen. He thinks of the years she’s lost, the time she'll never get back. He wonders if it’s worse to exist as a shadow of herself or not to exist at all. She must be able to see where his mind has gone because she squeezes his cheeks. “This is a happy day,” she says with a firmness that seems new. “You’re getting married, and I’m here. They can’t all be good days, but this one is.” 

"I know,” Declan says unconvincingly. 

She takes him in, her gaze steady enough to make him squirm. “It’s natural to have nerves, but Edward is wonderful. The two of you are wonderful together. Now.” She pokes at one side of his mouth until his lips curl up unwillingly. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready? I hear we've disrupted your schedule.” Declan thinks with embarrassment of the several disgruntled voicemails he left on Ronan’s phone. “Don’t let me keep you. We’ll have plenty of time later.” 

He doesn’t really want to go, but he doesn't want to stay either. He wants a moment to himself, wants the day to stop marching forward, bearing him along to an inevitable conclusion. But Declan always does what he’s supposed to do, and so he leaves Aurora to oversee the hasty repair of the wrapping job on the gift Matthew has, predictably, dropped. The happiness, if that’s what he’s feeling, lasts just long enough to get him out of view of his family and then fades away, the empty spaces it leaves filling quickly with confusion. He and Edward talked this to death in between oddly charged arguments about pocket squares. Yes, he’d admitted, he wanted his mother at his wedding. No, he couldn’t have her there. Yes, he was fine with that. There was no point in getting weepy about something that simply was not an option. He’d thought he was being practical. Edward, apathetic. Now he recognizes that the correct word is _resigned_. It had seemed impossible, like most of the things he’d wanted in life, and so, as had happened with most of the things he’d wanted in life, some shadowy internal mechanism had stopped him from feeling the full weight of it. Only her presence makes it possible for him to feel how badly her absence would have hurt, the way he hadn’t felt the whole of his loneliness until Edward lifted some part of it from his shoulders. It’s terrifying to realize—solidly into adulthood, on his wedding day—that he’s never experienced a want not shaded with fear. That every step of the way, he’s lowered his expectations until they ceased to exist. 

Now that all of his guests are finally, belatedly here, he should be getting dressed, but instead he finds himself walking aimlessly through the house, schedule be damned. The house is still unfamiliar to him; this is only his third visit. It doesn’t have the awkward mix of styles that their old apartment did, his sleek modern furniture covered with Edward’s thick yarn creations. He’s touching the edge of a blandly-colored afghan when Ashley taps him on the shoulder. He startles badly enough that she looks concerned when he finally makes eye contact. “Whoa, what’s wrong with you? Do we have a runaway bride on our hands?” 

“That’s not funny,” he says flatly. 

“Um, it's definitely funny. I’m funny. But seriously, are you okay? You look messed up.” Her nose wrinkles. "And sweaty."

Sometimes Declan can hardly believe he spent the first two decades of his life alone in every way that mattered; it seems impossible that he was ever able to bear it. As soon as the shell around him splintered, it shattered, and he’s never been able to piece it back together. Even when Edward left and he tried to let his loneliness turn him cold and hard again, emotion came spilling out when he wasn't looking. Now he finds that he wants to tell Ashley _something_ , even if he can’t find the words for the truth, and so some smaller insecurity works its way free. “Ronan brought our mom,” he blurts out. “Which is amazing. Obviously it's amazing. It's just that I didn’t expect to see her here, you know, I didn’t plan for it, and she’s never met Edward’s family, so she might not be comfortable, and—and I’m not sure there are enough _chairs_ , and—” 

“Okay, okay.” Ashley cuts him off, putting both hands on his shoulders. She looks up at him steadily. “Everything's going to be fine. Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’ll show your mom around, okay? I’ve been snooping since I got here, so I’ll be an _awesome_ tour guide. I'll introduce her to the Cullens. She and Esme are both sickeningly sweet, so they’ll get along. It’ll be perfect. I’ll make sure she has a good seat and whatever else she needs. She _will_ have a good time, and she _will_ be very impressed with your hot monster in-laws. Look, I know this is a big deal, and I will personally make sure it goes well. Now nod so I know you understand.” When he doesn’t react, she grabs his chin and moves it up and down before he can pull free. “ _You_ are going to go to—wherever you’re supposed to be. Your dressing room. Staging area. Whatever. Call your fiancé and tell him to get his head out of his ass so he can talk you down because this is so not about chairs. Got it?” 

Declan nods again, this time under his own power. He isn’t going to call Edward, but agreeing seems like the easiest way to be left alone. Ashley, who has always been much more perceptive than he would like her to be, looks unconvinced. "He'll come if you call," she says firmly. Then, stepping back, “Well? Quit looking at me all slack-jawed. Get going.” 

Declan follows the first half of her instructions and locks himself in the spare bedroom assigned to him for the day. Edward has texted him ten times since he last checked his phone: four increasingly disgruntled schedule reminders; three questions about table runners; two complaints about how Alice and Emmett are still, on his wedding day, attempting to throw him a bachelor party; and one incomprehensible mass of numbers and symbols that seems to have been sent from his pocket. Declan tucks his phone away without responding. They’ll see each other soon enough. He sits down, the ache in his muscles calling attention to just how tense he’s been, and rests his head in his hands. He doesn’t know how long he sits alone, the schedule being by now a distant and unpleasant memory, but the knock on the door comes much too soon. “I _know_ we’re running late,” he snaps, failing to bite his tongue for the first time since they got engaged. “Just give me a minute.” 

“That’s not why I’m here,” Edward says, sounding hesitant in a way he hasn’t since their relationship was new. “I thought you might want to talk. I’ve been speaking with Ashley.” The way Edward’s voice twists on her name makes Declan sure he heard Ashley thank him for the invitation to his “sham wedding” when she arrived. “She suggested that I come check on you.” 

“Well, that was completely unnecessary,” Declan says crisply. “Besides, you know we can’t see each other before the ceremony.” Edward would never admit to being superstitious, but Declan knows very well that he is, and he doesn’t need their marriage feeling anymore doomed than it already does. 

“Do you truly think that matters more to me than your emotional well-being?” Edward asks. The honest answer, at this point, is _yes_ , but Declan catches himself before he can say so. His restraint turns out to be wasted because Edward says, clearly having read his doubt, “Oh.” 

The embarrassment Declan would ordinarily feel at this unintentional display of vulnerability is drowned out by relief. Edward hasn't, to his knowledge, read his mind in months, and he's been surprised by how much he's missed it. It’s not that he ever lost his taste for privacy; he and Edward have a carefully negotiated understanding of when mindreading is acceptable that is more like a list of negatives. It is not acceptable when Declan is working on the first draft of a paper or email or especially important text message. It is not acceptable when they're in a fight. It is not acceptable during sex. It occurs to Declan only now that Edward might have meant to abide by this second rule. They have been, arguably, in a very slow, very quiet fight since before the campaign began. Whatever Edward’s motivation, Declan has experienced the withdrawal from his mind as a rebuke. When they were first getting to know each other, he was amazed by how compelling Edward seemed to find even his most mundane thoughts, and the loss of that interest left him feeling dull and insignificant. 

“You are more important to me than any tradition, but I can see that I have made you feel differently.” The doorknob twists slowly, catching on the lock. “I would very much like to talk face-to-face. I’ll leave if you really want to be alone, but I don’t think you do.” 

Declan considers lying but can’t bring himself to. This is the longest civil conversation he’s had with Edward in weeks, and he doesn’t want to cut it short prematurely. After a moment's hesitation, he unlocks the door and eases it open. 

Edward, framed awkwardly in the doorway, is dressed already in a grey tuxedo with light green accents and a sprig of flowers pinned to his lapel. He wanted them in matching tuxes, which was the one thing Declan put his foot down on. He’s more or less come to terms with the physical differences between them, but he doesn’t need the comparison drawn quite so starkly. His tux, still hanging up on the other side of the room, is a darker grey and in a different cut, but with the same accents and the same flowers. Edward reaches out like he means to take Declan’s hands, but he freezes before making contact, returning his arms to his sides. “I've been hurt,” he says, voice thick. “I’ve been hurt, and I've been angry, and I've been mistreating you.” 

Declan shrugs, uncomfortable with the sudden attention. The remorse rings false to his ears. Edward knows he’s upset and means to make him feel better, because no matter how irritable he’s been lately, he’s soft at his core. “Well, I deserved it. I was an asshole.” 

“You were,” Edward says, a prim endorsement that is as close as he will ever get to cursing. “But that doesn’t mean you deserve the way I’ve been treating you. I should have talked to you about my feelings rather than using the wedding as a cudgel. I just felt—” His hands twitch, and then, haltingly, he puts his arms around Declan. Declan leans into him. He's missed this, badly. Not just since the engagement unleashed whatever anger Edward had been keeping bottled up, but for months, since before the campaign officially began. Whatever's wrong with them has been building for longer than he'd like to admit. Edward continues, “I spent weeks trying to gather the emotional strength necessary to leave you, to imagine a life without you, and you shattered my resolve in moments. I was terrified by how quickly I gave in. I think I just resented feeling so utterly powerless, and so I lashed out. I'm sorry.” 

Declan tries not to tense too dramatically, knowing Edward will feel it. He doesn’t want to think about this. He likes to think he’s grown since he first met Edward. He doesn’t keep score like he used to, but he can’t avoid knowing that Edward has tried to leave him twice now, compared to his zero. It’s his worst fear, that there’s something inside of him that makes him easy to leave, something that means he will always end up alone. He doesn’t know how to balance this fear—this bone-deep, lifelong fear—with the knowledge that he was, by any metric, in the wrong.

When he and Edward got back together after the first leaving, he’d sometimes had to swallow down a vicious panic, to fight the urge to grip Edward by the collar and tell him he couldn't leave again, that he had to be back for good. He’d begun to recognize by then the things he’d done wrong, the ways he needed to open himself up to have a full relationship, but it was a terrifying thing to attempt with no guarantees. He never had said it, but Edward offered on more than one occasion, "I couldn't leave you again if I tried,” which didn’t totally sate Declan’s fear but provided some comfort. It didn't occur to him that Edward had never promised not to try. 

It isn’t a mystery anymore, the thing inside of him that renders him unsuitable for happiness. He knows exactly what he did to push Edward away, which should make it easier to fix but hasn’t yet. He takes a breath and steps back, pulling free from Edward’s arms. The least he can do is take responsibility. “I'm the one who should be apologizing. It’s my fault we ended up here in the first place. I knew you were unhappy, but I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I just checked out. It wasn’t fair of me.” 

Edward stares steadily into his eyes. “We’re both at fault. I didn’t talk to you until I was trying to leave. That was wrong of me. I was just—I was afraid. I was afraid there wasn’t room in your life for me. I was afraid if I brought it up, you would tell me so. Or that you wouldn’t, and I would have to try to make myself believe I was content living on scraps. I couldn't see a solution. Maybe together we could have come up with one, but I didn't give us a chance. I'm saying this because I want you to understand that you are by no means an easy person to leave, that I've only ever tried out of cowardice.” 

Declan’s eyes burn, and he turns away from Edward to regain his composure. Looking at his tuxedo hanging at the far end of the room, he says, “Still, I'm the one who—"

"You were selfish. Absolutely, undeniably so. You hurt me, and I suspect I'm not quite done being angry about that. But I was weak. I didn't fight, and that was foolish, because you are very worth fighting for." Edward kisses Declan gently. "We owe each other better, and we're both capable of it. Now, the conversation we need to have is a very long one, and we can have it now if you’d like, but...” Declan, bruised, expects another reminder about the schedule, but Edward says, “Ashley," and again, the audible wince, “told me that your mother is here.”

“I'm fine,” Declan says firmly. “Anyway, we must be pretty far behind schedule by now.” 

“I don't care about that. Everyone else can wait. It’s our day. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

It’s the _our_ that does it, this first acknowledgement of the wedding not as an apology or a tool, but something special and shared. Declan leans his head against Edward’s shoulder, which he knows will cause Edward to run a hand through his hair. “I don't know,” he says once this has been accomplished, Edward’s fingers long and graceful and calming. “It’s nothing, really. I just—I wanted my mother here.” 

“Of course you did,” Edward murmurs. He pulls a handkerchief from an inner pocket and presses it into Declan’s hand. 

Declan crumples it in his fist without bothering to point out that he isn’t crying. “No, but I didn’t _know_ that. I mean, I did, of course I did, but I had no idea how badly I wanted it. I didn’t see how it could happen. And I just— When I was a kid— For my whole _life_ until I met you, I was so used to not getting what I wanted that I guess I stopped feeling it. I was disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to make it, but I didn’t think it would really bother me too much. Then when I saw her—” His voice cracks. “Of course I wanted my mom at my wedding. Of _course_ I did. But I'm surprised. I really didn't know. What does that _say_ about me?” 

“Oh, Declan," Edward says softly. "It says you’ve had a hard life. Just like you said. How would you have learned to prioritize your own desires when no one around you ever did?” 

Declan bites his lip. Edward is too nice, even now. “It says there’s something _wrong_ with me. It says that every decision I’ve ever made is questionable.” Edward’s cold fingers rub against the nape of his neck. He didn’t feel like a full person before he met Edward. He hadn’t been raised to be one, and he’d long since accepted it. Edward brought something alive in him, something he’d never before had room for, and he’d begun to get a sense of who he might have been, who he perhaps still could be. He’d believed, honestly, that he was finally making choices for himself, choices not defined by his childhood and his family. It hurts now to realize that the damage was more extensive than he imagined even in his most bitter moments. He doesn’t know how to say that his life stretches out before him crowded full of things that no longer seem quite worth the cost. He stares down at his hands, at the crumpled handkerchief, and whispers, “I don’t know if I want this.” 

Edward stiffens, his hand withdrawing from Declan’s neck. “Well,” he says. His voice is frosty, though Declan can hear him trying to soften it. “The timing is less than ideal, but of course we don’t have to— If you really don't want to— I never asked for—” 

Declan recognizes the miscommunication with a sickening lurch. “That’s not what I mean. That’s not what I’m trying to say. I love you. I want—” He realizes the truth of it as he speaks, and he says with wonder, “I want to marry you.” 

Edward doesn't seem to share his appreciation for the revelation. “The audible surprise doesn’t make that very reassuring.” 

Declan grasps for the right words but has to make do with his own. “Okay, so I didn’t especially want to marry you before, but I care about you. I want to be with you. And I knew _you_ wanted to get married, or that you had wanted to.” He shrugs, made awkward by the struggle of turning his feelings legible. “Before, I mean. That was enough for me. Maybe it’s not a good reason, but I wouldn’t have regretted it. If we got married and it actually fixed things between us. If it bought me the time I needed to fix things.” He looks Edward in the eye, willing him to understand. “I _never_ would have regretted it. I know it’s not the most romantic thing in the world, but it was more than enough for me. But now I’m realizing I want— Look, during the campaign, living apart, barely talking, I thought it was worth it, but it’s not. I thought I knew what I wanted, but I didn’t even really know what it felt like _to_ want things.” Moving quickly, trusting his instincts, he pulls Edward into a bruising kiss, then leans back, whispering into the slight distance between them, “Except for you. I always knew I wanted you. I _want_ you. I want to marry you in front of our families—and Gansey because you gave Ronan a plus-one for some reason. I want to go on that stupid honeymoon you talked about, the wild bird tour of North America. I want—” He kisses Edward again, desperately trying to communicate something he fears his words aren’t getting across. 

Edward takes him by the shoulders and pushes him back. Fear and embarrassment war for dominance inside him, but Edward only says, “The campaign—" 

“Fuck the campaign,” Declan says, though the manic sense of clarity is already receding and he’s no longer sure if he’s saying this because he means it or because he’s never known how to back down. “None of that's real. _We're_ real. You and me.” 

Edward smiles but says delicately, “I don't think you're in the right frame of mind to make that decision. This has been a very emotional day.” 

Declan wants to insist that he won't change his mind, perhaps out of some misplaced sense of pride, but he holds back. “Whatever happens next, we’re in it together, okay? I want us to— I don't know. You’re right, okay, I don't know. But we have time to figure it out, right? We'll make time.” He presses his forehead to Edward’s, staring into his eyes. " _I’ll_ make time. We’ll go away for a couple days. Or we can stay here. You haven’t even shown me around. Ashley knows your house better than I do.” 

Edward’s mouth twists into a frown, but he sounds amused when he says, “Well, we’ll have to rectify that, won’t we?” 

Relief crashes down on Declan so heavily that he can barely believe he’s still standing. “We will.” He smiles for what feels like the first time in weeks. “So. Marry me?” 


End file.
